


Blood Right

by Mirraje



Category: Blade (Movie Series), Blade - All Media Types
Genre: Class Differences, F/M, Pureblood Society Blade, Quick Burn, debutante
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29447151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirraje/pseuds/Mirraje
Summary: They're both vampires but that's where their similarities end. Gitano Dragonetti's only child, Araminta comes from pureblood society and Frost does not. He is ambitious while she benefits from the status quo. They strike up a conversation at his party and begin to weave in and out of each other's lives, learning from the other what they couldn't learn from anyone else.
Relationships: Deacon Frost/Original Female Character
Kudos: 3





	Blood Right

**Author's Note:**

> Ichor wine=blood wine, created for this fic  
> Papi=father  
> Maman=mother

His name is a misnomer. I've been told there's no such thing as cold—it is an absence of heat. Yet for a time, his name could ignite heat in my chest and under his gaze, I never felt cold.

* * *

It is the start of the new lunar year in Spring 1996. My cousin, Remi, batting her beguiling brown eyes, manages to drag me to a party at Edgewood Tower in midtown.

The bass from the dance room, below us, _the boom, boom_ threatens to shake the marrow from my bones. Remi's black dress is simple but she's wearing her best lingerie underneath. I on the other hand do not anticipate any prospects—not that I’d _want_ any. I don’t wear makeup, but I notice the women, their collar bones shimmering with glitter as they sway to the beat, their glasses lip-printed with the rainbow colors of their bold lipstick. 

I'm disappointed I don't see a single glass of Ichor wine, my favorite part of New Years.

"Turned vampires have different customs," says Remi with a shrug. "They align more with humans for New Years celebrations. You won't find Ichor wine served here."

At least at home, I could have my fill of bloodcakes and Ichor wine, I don't utter aloud, weaving with Remi through the crowd.

Turned vampires move with a distinct languor. Supine, draped like strewn clothes on the sofas, they wave their limbs and loaf around and moon about with drowsiness. Their eyes fog in the blue light and they drawl as a way of speaking. "Hiiiiii," they say, a cat's drowsy meow. "Heyyyyyy," says a drunk partygoer to every male patron she sees. When one waves her off, without missing a beat her hand and fingers are spreading on another's chest, her gait rocky in her block heels. Dressed to kill and attractive in the unusual way all vampires are (Hold that thought, not all I think as I pass a man, shaded with sunglasses, with ginger pubes for facial hair, who resembled furniture upholstery scratched up by a panther).

And it doesn't fail to dawn on me that most of the turned languid vampires are women as if they were chosen for adornment.

Remi eyes a number of pureblood boys who stick out here with their too coiffed hair and perfectly polished shoes and I'm surprised we didn't hear their vamp vernacular boasting from a block away. 

If other purebloods are here, one of them is bound to have a bottle of Ichor wine.

"I'd give Maksim Polidori a scant glance," says Remi. "If he wasn't so…”

“House of _Leery_ Lemure?” I say.

“They love to hunt,” she says. “He tries to woo me with the same predatorial edge as when he's hunting his prey. Is he trying to court me or eat me?"

"Give him another decade. He might grow out of it," I say. "He might get the hint if he's ignored season after season."

"May your season not be as interesting as mine," she says, though I doubt she really bemoans having too many suitors.

"If I ever get to debut."

"Never thought you were even interested. Do you want to debut?"

"Not particularly," I lie. "But maman receives the calls 'Is Araminta ready to debut this upcoming season?' and papi keeps saying 'Sorry, no, not this season’.”

"I can see why he wouldn’t want you to debut. You're barely a century old," says Remi. "He thinks you’re too young and I half agree. He cares about making a good match."

"I reckon that's part of it, but papi despite being the Chairman of the Shadow Council, doesn't care for the attention."

Remi scoffs. "Well he's not the one debuting, is he? I'll say we agree it's better to wait. Frankly, there's more for a young unbetrothed lady to do these days. You studied history, you know that.”

"A bigger reason," I say. "He thinks I'm not ready to present to society."

Remi makes a squinted face that doesn't suit her pretty features. "Whatever for? You’ve completed your education and not at just any school. You went to _Strix._ You’re of age. Does he not know what you want?"

"You know how he is—"

Remi's voice climbs two octaves and her posture straightens two inches. "Maksim?! How did I not see you?" She cheek kisses him. "You remember my cousin, Araminta. She just returned from wintering in Sweden."

Maksim leans in and I cheek kiss him. His intentions—seeing how he came alone—are obvious even before he devours Remi with his raking eyes, snakes an arm around her waist, and then whispers into her ear.

"Wait here, Minty," says Remi and she drags Maksim in tow and I already know I'm going to be waiting a long time. So much for a scant glance.

I sigh, unsure if I should attach myself, like a leech, to another conversation. I consider the purebloods, I see Peterhoff and Caradoc but I'm invisible to them. I consider the turned vampires but I decide against it. I don't socialize well with turned vampires. Papi is right about them—they're too different.

"What do we have here?" says a voice behind me. He tosses a half-finished cigarette that rolls near my shoes. "A surprise to have even _one_ Dragonetti show up and look, I have _two_. To what do I owe the _honor_?" His words sting like rope burn.

A turned vampire, I know immediately by the thousand tiny details that give him away. "Have we met?"

He pauses at the question, eyes drifting for a second, then his hand is suddenly on mine, pivoting my family ring so that it glimmers in the light. "I'm what you could call a _good_ _friend_ of your father's."

He sets his jaw, lips forming an insolent pout and I recognize him before he can tell me his name.

"Papi has mentioned you before," I say. Deacon Frost. A name like mold for the Shadow Council, a problem that slowly spread and kept coming back. In real life, he is both not what I expected and yet more than papi’s miffed description of him.

How could I forget papi’s first meeting with him? One of the few times papi deigned to tell me about his council meetings with the other House of Erebus members. 

"And what does _papi_ really say about me?"

_“Insolent, arrogant. He is ambitious,” said papi. “Which I admire and, of course as you know Araminta, I wouldn't mean to discourage, but he is too young. Turned vampires roam in adult bodies but have the vampiric maturity of newborns. Wisdom you earn after a few centuries.”_

"That you are young,” I say and we both know there’s more I’m withholding.

A new cigarette lit between fingers and the smoke curls towards me as he talks with his hands. “That is how you purebloods think. See, I almost prefer the animosity of the purebloods who want turned vampires extinct. It’s the condescending purebloods I can’t stand.”

“Condescending?” 

“The ones who pity us. Those who dislike the word ‘turned’. They say I was forced to become a vampire. Let me tell you something. When I’m in the House of Erebus, sitting among those fossils on the council, I think I’m the only one there who actually _wants_ to be a vampire.”

I bat the smoke away, holding eye contact as I shift my weight to my feet. "This conversation isn't going anywhere. If a tall woman asks about me, tell her I left to enjoy the New Year elsewhere.” I peer around him, searching for the door where I could fetch my coat—

"Wait," he says and the shift in his voice is an electric spark in the room. More than a few vampires, alert and expecting something, peer our way. Mr. Torn Upholstery for skin shushes the three women he lounges on, ready at beck and call. "I've been unfair," says Frost. "Taking my frustrations out on you when you’ve done nothing wrong. Can I get you something? A drink? Anything."

"I'm fine," I say.

"Come on, name it. What do you want?"

"You wouldn't have it."

"Try me."

"Ichor wine," I say, not expecting him to know what it is.

"Wait a second."

When he is out of sight, I look for Remi's tall figure or Maksim's sandy hair in the crowd, not about to be abandoned again, but he returns with two full wine glasses, ignoring the others trying to vie for his attention.

"This is a delicacy and the New Year custom, right? Dating back to 7000 BC. Vampires have been fermenting grapes and blood long before the Italians, if I'm getting my history right."

"You are," I say.

He swishes the glass under his nose. "Ichor wine looks deceptively straightforward. Blood and wine, could be rose or red depending on the region, could be served cold or warm—what is there for you to screw up? Until you realize the patience and facility required to brew the taste and make sure the blood doesn't clot when it's harvested. Took some practice, planning, and patience and lucky for me—” he says, handing me the glass. “I'm good at all those things.”

He was heavy-handed with the blood, the smell alone lowers my canines. 

“Homebrew,” he says. “What do you think?"

I take a sip. The bubbles tickle my throat and I'm surprised by the pleasant lack of metallic tang in the blood, which can leave an awful mouthfeel in some robust blends. I lick it off my lips. "It's lovely."

He raises his glass. "Cheers to the New Year."

He is aware of his charm and with a glass of wine, he gets me to stay.

* * *

In the end, Remi pries me away. "Dawn approaches," she says and I return my empty glass to Frost.

"You're more than welcome to stay for the day," he says. I thank him for the wine and bid him farewell. The invitation in his voice wasn't lost on Remi who prods me for details in the car. 

"He didn't talk to anyone else all night?" she says.

"While you abandoned me to suck Maksim's face."

"I wish that was what I was doing."

"Don't grieve me with details."

"And don't change the subject. What did you talk about?"

I remember the blueness of his eyes when he said he had never enjoyed Ichor wine with someone before for New Year. "He was mostly apologizing," I say. "Removing his foot from his mouth."

"I hear he is very charming," says Remi.

"I can see how some would think that."

"But you don't think so?"

I swallow for the sake of my mouth, dry from wine. Without an answer of my own, I repeat something papi once said about him. "He bores me."

**Author's Note:**

> Fitting I should post this on Valentine's Day. As we can see, Araminta is not wholly honest with Remi there, because she believes she won't see him again, but that's not where this story will take her. Blade is a quiet fandom, but I hope those (few) of you out there enjoyed this first chapter!


End file.
